


Please don't scare away your Healer

by naivesilver



Series: My boy is magic, he turns my world upside down [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Awkward Flirting, Confused Bard, M/M, OR IS IT, Pre-Slash, The author doesn't share Bard's suspicions about French people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: Bard is sent to medicate Triwizard Champion Thranduil after his encounter with a dragon.It goes as well as anyone save Bard would expect.





	Please don't scare away your Healer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RainbowUnderpants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowUnderpants/gifts).



Bard shouldn’t really be here.  
He gets it, he does. If he keeps helping Madam Pomfrey in his free time and training as a Healer, she might give him the needed push to start a career at St. Mungo’s or something like that, a career that his poor (and Muggle) upbringing could never provide him. And he knows he’s good, or at the very least he’s shown promise for healing magic.  
But this is not cleaning scratches or distracting his schoolmates while they drink nasty potions in the Infirmary. This is the Triwizard Tournament. It ought to be someone else treating the three Champions, Champions who have just fought a dragon for Merlin’s sake, someone with more experience than him and Madam Pomfrey.  
And yet the magical world proves as disorganized as ever, so it _is_ just the two of them, and Bard is sent to the Beauxbatons Champion’s tent before he has any time to protest. He just hopes that the salve the Head Nurse gives him will be enough for any injuries the guy might have. He is just sixteen (nearly seventeen, to be honest), and there’s a limit to what he knows.  
He doesn’t even know what said Champion looks like. Every other student is overtly excited about this whole Tournament bullshit, but nothing in it sparks his interest, and he doesn’t see the appeal in risking your life only because a goblet deemed you “worthy”. Sure, meeting all those foreign kids is nice, but having girls squeal with delight before any new student is annoying, and the idea of the Yule Ball only makes him despair (unlike his friend Bilbo, who has been flirting with the Durmstrang Champion since day one). What he knows about the Beauxbatons boy is that he’s blonde and that his name is Thranduil. He thinks that he might be the one who grew wings on his back to fight the dragon, but he is not sure.  
With all this ignorance, of course, he sets himself up for a surprise.  
He remembered correctly: this is the one who grew wings, wings that now loom over them both, big and leathery and black. They cast disturbing shadows over everything in the tent, including the Champion’s face. It’s an unsettling face as it is, all high cheekbones, pale skin and sharp lines: with this light, it barely looks human, too handsome for a boy their age.  
Fuck. Is he one of those Veela creatures? He sure has the hair for it, pale blonde and straight down his back.  
A small smile appears on Thranduil’s face when he sees him. – Are you my Healer?  
\- Yeah – Bard answers, shaking himself out of his surprise. He can’t let himself be distracted by this guy’s weird appearance: Madam Pomfrey counts on him to make a good job, and he has no desire do delude her. – Though I’m just an assistant. If you have more injuries than that one on your face you might need a real Healer.  
The Champion’s smile grows slightly wider while he shrugs. – Nothing else. It seems I was better than the dragon.  
There is the hint of an accent in his voice, but it looks like he has a good grasp on English, something that half of those French students can’t say about themselves. To be honest, his voice sounds as suave as his face. It’s unnerving.  
Thranduil is still holding the golden egg that was his price, but he sets it down on the floor beside his chair to allow Bard more space to check on his burn. The Hogwarts’ student does just so, getting closer and touching the skin as lightly as he can to verify its state. It’s not as bad as it looks: he must have been quick enough to avoid most of the dragon’s fire.  
Neither of them speaks for a while, until Bard decides to pick up the conversation again. Silence isn’t usually a problem for him; on the contrary, he’s perfectly at ease without nonsense talking, and the other guy shows no sign of discomfort. No, he starts talking because Thranduil is looking at him. Those blue, icy eyes of his stare at him with a mix of curiosity, amusement and something else that he can’t decipher, and Bard fills the silence before he can convince himself that that something is superiority. He knows next to nothing about Beauxbatons, but somebody told him that there are mostly blood purists in that school and he has this bizarre feeling sometimes that they might see that he’s Muggleborn.  
It’s pure idiocy, but he speaks up anyway to drown that thought. – So. Wings. Great idea. How did you use them, though? Did you pretend to be another dragon?  
Thranduil makes a small snort. – You didn’t see?  
\- I was patching up that Durmstrang guy. Thorin something, you know.  
\- Thorin Azghzars – his companion provides, the foreign name flowing effortlessly from his tongue. – I see. A rather…difficult person, I hear.  
This time it’s Bard’s turn to snort. – You can say he’s a cunt. I think he is.  
\- Our Headmaster wouldn’t be happy of us learning that kind of words – Thranduil replies. He’s completely straight-faced, and Bard stares at him for a few seconds because, _was that a joke?_  
It must have been, because the amusement is back in the other boy’s eyes and his gaze on Bard is not as daunting as before. All the better for him, actually. His features are still too refined to be normal, but with a more human expression he looks…younger, closer to his real age, which must be seventeen or so if he was able to put his name into the Goblet. He’s even more handsome, now.  
Right, there _has_ to be some Veela magic involved.  
While Bard chuckles to signal him that he’s got the joke and goes to open the jar of salve and start with the real healing, however, he’s struck by a thought. His laugh rings into the empty tent and there is no one to join him in it, except Thranduil himself. It seems so wrong. The Durmstrang guy they mentioned before, even if by their point of view is an ass (always grumbling and eyeing everyone suspiciously, as if they were trying to stab him when he’s not looking), had a large group of friends hanging around and feasting his victory, not to mention Bilbo making starry eyes at him. Why is there no one to do the same for Thranduil?  
He debates asking him for a few seconds, because he IS curious but he doesn’t want to pry too much, lest Thranduil turns back into an ice statue. In the end he gives up and asks as lightly as he can, spreading the salve on his cheek and marvels at how smooth the skin his sans dragon-burns. Do they have SPA days at Beauxbatons or something? – Why is none of your mates here? I thought you French people were very patriotic. Isn’t cheering for their Champion mandatory?  
Thranduil actually laughs, but his laugh bears no trace of amusement. – Jealousy, maybe. I was chosen over them for my abilities, after all.  
Bard just cocks an eyebrow and keeps working. His job here is almost done, but he wants a real answer, and so he moves as slow as he can, taking more time than needed. Truth be told, he’s enjoying his conversation with this guy.  
Guy who waits a few seconds in complete silence, then exhales and adds: - And I’m not that popular with most of them anyway. At least, not since they decided that hexing an Halfblood was an acceptable sport to practice in England and I got on the way.  
So there was no actual superiority in his mind, before, nor he’s making this up-his voice has completely changed, getting lower and with a more serious tone. Bard regrets instantly his past suspicions and moves away from Thranduil’s face, closing the jar with a swift move. – Then they’re bloody idiots. As much as Thorin Whats-his-name is.  
Thranduil laughs again, more convinced this time. – Thank you. I’m sure the English will prove real gentlemen compared to them – he replies, his expression softened and his smile vaguely malicious. – I should consider inviting one of yours to the Yule Ball, too.

Bard...Bard should really snap something back at the guy. He deserves it, because if he was joking before, now it looks like he's fucking flirting, and Bard can't accept it. Not from someone who is fighting against the honor of his school, or who is so...hell, so good-looking.  
But of the hundreds of quips that are hanging on the tip of his tongue, none comes out, and instead he feels a flush creeping up from the base of his neck. The only thing he can do now is to retreat to the entrance of the tent, so that he can escape before any color reaches his face.  
He can't leave without saying anything, though, so he turns back to Thranduil. – I have to go before the Head Nurse starts shouting for me, but if you had any problem, come and ask for help. You have two other trials after this one, I don’t want them to think I ruined their Champion.  
\- Don’t worry, you seem professional enough to satisfy any doubt. But I’ll need your name if I have to ask for you.  
\- It’s Bard. Bard Longbow.  
\- Thank you, Bard Longbow. – Thranduil’s smile is blinding. It even reaches and fills his eyes, for heaven’s sake. - I really hope I’ll see you soon…For more pleasant purposes than healing burns, I think.  
At this point Bard has to run out of the tent, lest he makes a fool of himself.  
Fucking _Frenchs_.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, RainbowUnderpants!  
> I have to be honest:this is not a complete work. I'm working on a companion piece that's set about 20 years after this, but I decided to post them separately because I thought you'd rather have two smaller works than a longer but rushed one. The second part will be probably up during the festivities, but I hope that in the meantime you enjoy this and that you have a great Christmas all around. Lots of love (to the others reading this fic too: I hope you enjoy your festivities, whatever they are <3)


End file.
